


"Just Friends..."

by buckybarrow



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybarrow/pseuds/buckybarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ionas nodded and bit at the inside of his cheek, as if considering the notion,<br/>"Just friends... plus a little more?"<br/>Dorian quirked a brow,<br/>"On the side, of course,"<br/>"Of course,"</p><p>30 day otp challenge: a series of nsfw drabbles centering for the most part around Inquisitor Ionas Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naked Cuddling

Dorian would never think of pressing his advantage, live up to the ghastly rumors about him, still circulating even at Skyhold nearly a year since his arrival to the Inquisition's doorstep. Rumors that suggested he, the wicked and evil magister, possessed ill intentions and a want to play temptation to the pure and innocent Inquisitor. It was laughable, hardly the case, he wasn't a magister and the inquisitor was hardly pure and decidedly not innocent. He'd seen it first hand and couldn't deny a certain delicious sense of satisfaction to the way he'd seen the man fall apart, writhing and panting and bucking and pleading at his doing, the giddy pleasure he got from seeing him so flushed, so flustered. The evening had brought nothing different of what had become regular routine for the two of them, sprawled across the bed in the Inquisitor's tower, long since stripped of clothing and inhibitions.

Helpless little noises spilled from Ionas's Trevelyan's lips, tiny and breathy and barely reaching Dorian set snugly in the cradle of his hips as he eagerly stoked the fire of his arousal. The herald was totally and completely at the mercy of his wishes, and in that moment it was his wish to stimulate the man, tease and stroke and worship his taught and heaving form until he lost all semblance of that quietly calm and controlled demeanor. He wanted to hear Ionas's voice echoing off the rafters, crying out his name among the other filthy things that would follow and curl Mother Giselle's hair to hear as Dorian served his Inquisitor.

He was good at it too, indeed Dorian was a devout follower of Andraste's blessed Herald, in fact he'd recently made a point to take time out of his busy schedule to "serve" him several times a week, such was his devotion and his service unmatched. There were a great many things Dorian was very good at, he hadn't been the prodigal son of his house just for show, but this? This was one of his more refined talents, something hidden, not something to write home about to be sure, but this particular talent had won him many favors back home and abroad. Oh yes, he was very good, and Ionas was putty in his hands to mold... or rather, a rigid form in his mouth to lavish.

Though perhaps it couldn't just be chalked up to raw talent, that by some fate of chance Dorian of House Pavus recently of Minrathous had seen his stars align correctly to find himself crowned the cock sucking champion of the world. Maybe he knew a few tricks to help the illusion along. Maybe he'd used a tiny enchantment to lower his body temperature, make his kisses frosty like he'd had ice in his mouth... maybe he _was_ just that good.

Ionas certainly seemed to think so.

A broken, helpless moan of ecstasy spilling from Andraste's holy manse affirmed just such a thing. 

Dorian curled long fingers into the meat of the inquisitor's thighs, holding him down as those slender hips jacked up in response to another slow sweeping pass of his tongue, flat along the underside of his shaft. He felt a hand clad in soft leather grasping at the back of his neck in encouragement and, disappointing as it was, Dorian found he couldn't suppress the shiver it sent down his spine. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant, but all the same his reaction had not been one of wanton desire.

Dorian pulled away from his work with an obscenely wet pop, licking his chops and finding himself looking very pointedly at Ionas. More specifically he was staring at the tailored jerkin and gloves he never seemed to remove, not even in the numerous times they'd stripped bare and pressed flesh, as had been the intended activity of the evening. Dorian didn't expressly mind, he had at first thought it was just an oddity, the way some men failed to remove their socks during sex (which he found to be repugnant), or maybe his specific kink, but it soon occurred to the Mage that he'd never once seen Ionas without the thing. Not ever. Not in nearly a year of knowing the man. It had become somewhat of a peevish obsession with Dorian, an odd need to see his lover completely bare, naked as the day he'd been born, and it left him wondering what in the world Ionas could possibly by hiding under those sleeves, beyond the anchor of course. More than once he'd caught himself staring into space, trying to imagine what was under the thick, canvassed sleeves. Embarrassing tattoos adorned in the days of his youth? Not likely. Maybe his arms were excessively hairy compared to the rest of his body. Perhaps it was something greater than that, maybe the skin there was purple with yellow polka dots for unearthly reasons that no one could rightly explain. Perhaps not, but then again Dorian didn't know, and to say he didn't care was a lie. He cared really a great deal, far too much for what was probably sane. It was what had stopped Dorian at working his special little talent to stare at Ionas, head lolling forward, dark curls falling in his eyes as he slowly came back to himself.

"What's the matter?" Ionas managed to grind out, that thick Starkhaven brogue of his sounding more like he was holding marbles in his mouth than an actual accent. Dorian set his jaw against it and the primal sensations it stirred in his belly.

"It's not that I'm complaining," He began in a huff, pushing up on the bed to fight the onset of that big scary feeling that had periodically begun to swell and ebb in his breast in the Inquisitor's presence, creeping in when there was nothing to distract him from basking in his aura. 

Ionas sat up next to him and did nothing to help the emotion, flushed and sleek with sweat, thick brows already twisted in premature aggravation for whatever was to follow, no doubt eager to resume the activities of the moment before. He was picturesque, all long lashes, freckles, and dark curls and Dorian felt something very strong for the man indeed. 

"What," Ionas growled, it wasn't a question so much as a demand and Dorian's stomach tightened at the sound of it. 

"Really, I do enjoy these little rendezvous of ours, but we are at decidedly uneven odds, wouldn't you agree?"

Ionas breathed deep before exhaling noisily and shifting so that his weight rested reclining on his arms, cock still erect against his stomach and slick with Dorian's saliva.

"...not particularly, no, even if I knew what you were talking about,"

The herald brushed his hair back out of his face and turned that unblinking inky gaze on Dorian who, like always, got a little lost in finding constellations in the freckles smattered across the man's nose and cheeks. Maker, he had a lot of them didn't he? Without really thinking Dorian reached out and brushed sandy fingers across the split in Ionas's brow, then pulled one of his curls taught before letting it go to spring back up, to try and hide the affectionate action. 

"I only meant that reoccurring circumstances seem to remain particularly one-sided between you and me,"

He rolled his eyes then and shifted on the bed, grumbling as he went,

"Look, if you want your turn _now_ all you have to do is say so, you selfish bastard," Ionas sighed, climbing on his hands and knees over Dorian and forcing him back ever so slightly.

Of course he could hardly object to the way his arousal jumped as Ionas snagged him and bit into the tender flesh where neck met shoulder, but if he didn't get his point across now he was bound to forget what he was saying before he got too swept up in the motions, which seemed might be inevitable as thick, leather bound fingers curled around the base of his cock and began to caress him in steady, solid strokes.

His voice caught in his throat at the sudden pressure on such sensitive points.

"That...that's not what I meant," he gasped, unable to keep from rolling his hips into Ionas's clenched hand,

"Then I'm afraid I don't follow you," the Inquisitor sighed against Dorian's flesh, tipping his lover's head back so that he might continue to nip and suck at the taught columns of his throat.

Dorian couldn't speak, his tongue felt too big for his mouth. If he hadn't been before, the continued motion of Ionas's clumsy fingers along his quickly hardening cock and the wet, hot kisses he left over his neck, jaw, and clavicle lulled Dorian into a thick and hazy fog of ecstasy. He groped aimlessly for the thought he'd been clinging to as it began to slip away, slowly losing it and his ability to form a coherent thought beyond an intense desire for the man worshipping him. 

Long scrambling fingers came up to grasp helplessly at Ionas's broad, canvassed shoulders as a gentle moan escaped him. He fisted the material in his hands and tugged him closer and in tandem the thought that had endeavored to escape. He spoke before it was even fully formed,

"Why do you always wear this," he asked, his voice strained and breathy.

Ionas stopped short then. His hands stuttered and he sat back on his knees to look Dorian in the face. It was a long moment before anything happened and Dorian forgot the protest rising in his throat from the sudden absence of Ionas's hands, suddenly very nervous that he'd overstepped his boundaries. 

Finally Ionas quirked a brow,

"Why do you ask?" He countered, 

Dorian shrugged as best he could still gripping at the sleeves of the jerkin,

"I'm dreadfully curious. A fault of mine,"

Inky eyes widened then as the herald's face split into a lopsided, toothy grin,

"Maker no! He admits a fault? What's this insane world coming to?"

The mage faltered at how blatantly his Inquisitor had avoided the question, dropping his hands into his lap. All the same he went along with it. Maybe he could bring him back around to it if he played this little game, but then again maybe it wasn't his business. Maybe he ought to just drop it.  

"I know, it's unprecedented," Dorian mused, returning Ionas's smirk, "Someone ought to write this down,"  

The Herald didn't miss a beat. 

"Should I go and get Josephine? She could take notes in case any more ground breaking events occur,"

Dorian couldn't help but laughing out loud at that. There had been talk of the Ambassador having been scarred into silent contemplation after walking in on the Iron Bull and a scout he had taken as a plaything. Dorian imagined more or less of the same would follow were Ionas to summon her up the stairs to his personal chambers in that moment with the both of them sitting in a naked and tangled mess of limbs in various states of arousal.  

After a moment Dorian noticed that while he had released his hold on Ionas's jerkin, he was still staring that the loose ties criss-crossing the Inquisitor's freckled chest. 

"That would certainly set tongues wagging," He hummed, trying to keep his mind off the obsessive subject, 

The inquisitor snorted, 

"What, like they aren't already?"

He had to give him that. Their dalliances, though wholly private, had been occurring regularly enough they they had long since been the widely whispered about hot topic of conversation in corners and tight huddles around tables. 

 

_"The Inquisitor and his Vint are just a tad overly friendly wouldn't you say?"_

_"Decidedly so. Maker! You don't think...?"_

_"I most certainly do."_

_"How scandalous!"_

 

At first Dorian had felt right at home among the hushed, backhanded whispering, the way a room fell suddenly silent as he entered, the staring and prying eyes that followed him everywhere, but as always it very quickly became tiresome. Conversations like that were a dime a dozen at Skyhold and back home in Minrathous, and they had long since begun to wear on his nerves. 

"Really though," Dorian started, "what's so shocking about a little platonic sex here and there?"

"And everywhere," Ionas added, with a smirk, winning a shrug from the Mage, "Anyway this is hardly platonic,"

The mage couldn't suppress the funny thing his heart did in his chest,

"Oh, no?" He stammered, 

"No. Unless of course you're trying to tell me that you want to be friends,"

Dorian stared very pointedly at him for a long moment, brows coming together at the notion. What an odd thing to suggest. 

"Are we _not_?" 

Ionas shrugged,

"Of course," 

" _Of course_ 'of course'," Dorian affirmed with a huff,

Ionas nodded and chewed the inside of his cheek, as if considering the notion,

"Just friends... plus a little more?" 

"On the side, of course,"

" _Of course_... but that poses the question: are you _my_ friend plus a little more on the side or am I _your_ friend plus a little more on the side?" 

Dorian scoffed, feigning offense, like the question were ridiculous and completely obvious. Ionas's lips quirked up in a delighted smirk and he had to bite at his lower lip to regain a straight face, Dorian felt his own smile pulling at his mouth but he was much better at keeping cool than the Inquisitor,

"You're _my_ friend,"

And then Ionas gave a hearty bark of laughter, 

"Really!"

"No question,"

"You don't say,"

"I do,"

After a long moment, Ionas couldn't keep from smiling any longer, snickering and shaking his head,

"You're so dumb," 

"Well, as they say, it takes one to know one, Friend." 

"...Plus a little more--"

"Stop it," 

And then he was staring again, and whether or not Ionas had noticed before, he did _now_ and heaved a long suffering sigh for it, casting his gaze down on a huff and letting those dark curls fall in his face again,

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

Dorian winced at the sound of it, like he were some annoying thing, incessantly pestering and poking at other things that were none of his business. He never should have asked, he ought to leave well enough alone, apologize and tell him never mind it, but Dorian had never been very good at realizing what he ought and ought not do,

"Like I said, frightfully curious..." 

Ionas stared at him a long moment, brows furrowed, lips pulled into a thin line, unreadable, searching Dorian's face for the answer to a question he couldn't fathom. 

He hadn't been aware he was holding his breath until Ionas's hands came up to pull at the strings of the jerkin. His heart thumped solidly in his chest and he watched unblinking as the Inquisitor unceremoniously removed the wretched thing. In half a heartbeat he went from giddy anticipation to a breath of complete and abject alarm... off came the gloves, and then he was blank. He didn't react, didn't speak or move or hardly even blink, he didn't know how to respond to the reveal because Dorian couldn't exactly process what he was seeing. 

Ionas's bare shoulders, arms, and hands, yes, but they were somehow... wrong. The skin was pale and discolored, pinkish and sleek in patches, it stretched and pulled at odd places and folded at others. His arms were muscled well enough but looked almost as if they were under constant strain and fit poorly beneath the flesh. It was a very long moment before Dorian could process why Ionas's arms looked so odd, and then finally when it dawned on him, one word passed through his mind, solid and hitting him like a ton of bricks: **_burned_**.

The scars covered the expanse of both arms, spidering over his shoulders and darting out across his chest. Dorian finally had to make himself take a breath.

"It's bad, I know..." Ionas muttered, 

The mage knew he ought to respond, deny the claim, assure him it was hardly noticeable, say something, anything to break this wretched silence, but nothing happened. The burns were too extensive, too completely there to even consider telling a half truth, and the lie caught in his throat. He opened his mouth but no sound came out and Ionas gave a breathy, half forced chuckle in response, 

"People usually ask what happened,"

Naturally Dorian stayed silent. It wasn't his place to ask and it didn't feel exactly polite to do so, overlooking the fact that he couldn't have made himself speak in that moment even if he'd been brash enough to do so. All the same, that damned curiosity of his was buzzing in the back of his mind like a wasp and lucky for him, Ionas obliged without prompt.

"...I was eight." He offered, wringing his hands, "Still living in Ostwick. I had a friend who came into their magic while we were playing some stupid 'ring around the rosie' game... or something. Anyway, we were holding hands when it happened," Ionas flexed his fingers and made a face as if it hurt to do so.

"...What happened after...?" Dorian ventured as he finally found his voice, presenting itself small, strange and scared, like a child asking questions about something he didn't understand. 

Truth was he _didn't_ understand. 

He didn't understand how he couldn't have known this, how he didn't imagine this was a possibility. How this could be something that had happened to Ionas, of all people, who had been so decent, so accommodating to the rebel mages. He didn't understand how he didn't hate them. 

Of course, people were burned back home in Minrathous, all the time in fact. Fire, afterall, was a staple in the northern mage's arsenal, used and abused in every which way. Men were cooked alive in suits of armor, curtains accidentally set ablaze in a moment of heightened emotion, he'd burned his own eyebrows off when he was fourteen experimenting with an advanced spell, but no one was really ever caught off guard by the manifestation of magic. People spent their childhoods anticipating it, waiting for it to happen, hoping for the day their children would emerge as mages. How everyone in the south could be so alarmed and taken by surprise that their child could be a mage would never really be something he would come to fully understand.... He knew that it happened more often than he would imagine, but Dorian couldn't fathom why it had to happen to _him_.

Ionas just shrugged his scarred shoulders,

"I spent a few months bedridden, saw the best mages and healers money could buy and a few it couldn't. The infection was the worst part, it's what damn near killed me. It got bad enough in one hand that my father wanted them to cut it off to keep it from spreading... Can you imagine?" He held up his left, the dominant hand, the one split horizontally across the palm by the now dormant anchor. "Who knows, it might have been the best thing to do, I haven't been able to feel anything in it since then, twenty years of nothing and now ..." He trailed off, "Well, now I have _this_ ,"

"Does it hurt?" Dorian asked softly, his own hands itched, trying and failing to imagine how terrible the pain must have been at the time, how it seemed to be when the mark flared.

"Not as much as it did before,"

Something in Ionas's voice suggested that he hadn't meant the anchor, or even the scarring for that matter, and Dorian understood well enough what it was to have a parent making bad decisions for one's own good. 

"What about your friend?" Dorian pressed to smother his own hurt feelings, "Surely they had to know it was an accident?"

The Inquisitor's complexion went pallid and his eyes darkened, a knot formed in the pit of Dorian's stomach and he realized he already knew the answer to that. 

"That's not how things work down here,"

"...was is terrible?" His voice went quiet again,

"I can't imagine what it was like... Templars came and took her away and I was sent to Starkhaven as soon as the infection cleared. That was the last I heard of it."

There was a long uncomfortable melancholy silence after that. Ionas sat cradling his left hand and staring off at nothing in particular and Dorian felt like a complete and total ass for having ever brought it up. After several minutes of unbroken silence, he saw the Inquisitor take up his gloves and struggle to pull them on, his hands were trembling. After a moment of trying and failing, he dropped the wretched things and fumbled with his jerkin. It struck a chord of offense in Dorian, that Ionas would think he needed to cover himself, hide his imperfections. Weren't they past all that? Didn't he know how wonderful he was? How impeccably magnificent? It wasn't fair that he of all people had to live in such shame, hiding something he needn't have out if fear of...what, rejection?

Complete and utter nonsense. 

He reacted on a whim and in hindsight may have done better to think beforehand, all the same he took hold of the jerkin and flung it across the room in one swift movement that left Ionas recoiling in alarm, 

"Shit, Dorian! What in the--"

He didn't let him finish, cupping either side of Ionas's face and pulling him into a kiss so tender it mustered more of the same of that big serious feeling and left the both if them breathless.

"You don't have to hide, Ionas," Dorian said softly, "Not from me,"

Ionas gaped at him, like he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, as if they were blatant and offensive lies. He even went so far as to pull away from Dorian. He tried to speak, make an excuse, but he couldn't form a coherent sentence, and finally had to settle on one statement, wholly untrue and disgusting.

"...I'm ugly, I didn't want you to see that," Ionas said so quietly he may has well have screamed it, the way it made Dorian's ears ring.

"No you aren't,"

"I am, of course I am... I'm ugly and unwanted and I'm broken and nobody wants damaged goods,"

"Stop that!" Dorian hissed, "What good does talk like that do you?"

"...Keeps me grounded...I can't pretend I'm anything I'm not, Dorian," 

"What, like the Herald of Andraste?" Dorian scoffed, Ionas shook his head,

"I never said I was,"

The Inquisitor gave him a wide eyed look when he seized him by the shoulders and gave him a solid shake,

"Vishante kaffas. Believing that complete and utter nugshit is lying to yourself, Amatus. I don't know who told you all this but it isn't true, do you hear me? Whoever said so is a mean bastard and don't you dare believe a word of it."

Ionas gave a forced, half hearted laugh,

"That's nice of you to say so..."

But he didn't believe him. He honestly and truly thought Dorian was just patronizing him, telling a pretty lie to make him feel better and it set the mage's blood to boiling,

"Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself,"

Ionas's eyes snapped up in alarm, and he looked positively horrified that Dorian would speak to him in such a tone of voice,

"Excuse me?" 

"Come off it, Ionas, you know I'm not one of those petty soothsayers downstairs looking to lick your asshole and fluff your ego. And I'm not going to lie to you just to make you feel better. Bad things happen and we either move on or let it kill us. There's no point in dwelling in things you can't change. So if you intend to keep up this melancholia I'll just have to go and find something better to do," 

Thick brows came together defensively, 

"You're the one who asked-"

Dorian didn't want to hear it.

"Shut up and listen to me instead of arguing for once. There's nothing wrong with you. You're fine the way you are. Better than fine... You're..." He stopped short then, but it didn't help. What was said had been said and tempers had flared.

Ionas was all angry eyebrows over sad doe eyes and Dorian realized with a start that he'd been reprimanding the inquisitor, making things excessively worse. He sat back against the headboard, muttering angrily to himself in Tevene. This wasn't how he'd wanted to spend his evening, and all this emotional bonding had sincerely killed the mood. 

Suddenly Ionas tentatively slumped over, resting his head against Dorian's thigh and hugging himself.

_...Kaffas..._

"...Ionas..." He said on a sigh, pinching the bride of his nose with his forefinger and thumb,

Silence.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so... mean, about it, but this isn't a nice world we live in and as I told you before, I'm not a nice man," 

He sat and waited for the Inquisitor to come around, to say something, tell him to leave, anything, but he just lay there.

After a moment of reflection, Dorian dropped his hand to rest on Ionas's shoulder and after a minute began tracing little runes and swirls in the grooves of his scars. When he didn't react to the touch he reached down to curl his arms around the man and haul him up to his chest. Ionas tensed and briefly fought the motion, pushing against him.

"What are you doing?" He said immediately, twisting to look incredulously at Dorian through dark lashes, 

"I'm cuddling you," the Mage said matter-of-factly, pulling him tighter.

There was another one of those long pauses as Ionas studied him,

"...Why?" He ventured, brows still furrowed in that old mistrust he hadn't seen since their first conversations in Haven. Slowly but surely he relaxed in the mage's arms.

Dorian sighed and rested his head against Ionas's, burying his face thick dark curls to collect his thoughts. 

"Because I'm not good at all this serious emotional rubbish...also... I like you," he admitted, slightly sheepish to do so, "...more than I should, anyway this is what people do when they're friends plus a little more on the side... Don't you think?" 

He was struck with a pang of relief as he felt Ionas smile against him.

"That's more than just a little more, and I'm not so sure you're up for that,"

Dorian swallowed hard and settled in to lay on the pillow next to him, still holding the Inquisitor close, heart beating wildly in his chest. 

"...Don't be silly, I'm up for anything," 

The inquisitor laughed and for half a heartbeat Dorian worried it might have been an impending rejection.

"You're so--"

He set his jaw,

"Yes, we've already established that I'm dumb,"

"-- _wonderful_ ," Ionas cut him off and after a moment shifted to pull the blankets up to cover the both of them. 

Dorian was staring again and had to look away, afraid he might say or do something to ruin the moment if he didn't. His face felt hot and his ears burned as a new word bounced around his head, pushing at the notion of what they were, what they had been, what they'd agreed to be. 

_Friends? No, he's not my friend... he's my--_

"What does ' _Amatus_ ' mean?"

His heart stumbled in his chest and damn near stopped at the sound of it.

"What?"

"You called me that, just a few minutes ago...what's it mean?"

Dorian didn't answer, his tongue felt fat in his mouth and his throat went dry. 

Shit, had he actually said it out loud?

"...Are you blushing?"

Ionas was staring at him, brows furrowed again but smile still very much in place. 

"Certainly not," the Mage said immediately. 

Ionas's eyes lit up and Dorian knew in an instant that there would be no overlooking the hot flush bleeding over his face. 

"You are! ...And _speechless_  as well, we should have summoned Josie up here afterall,"

"Oh, shut up, you big patchy buffoon," Dorian grumbled, rolling over, away from Ionas, and settling down in the blankets with a pillow pressed firmly over his head. He was a grown man and would not stand to be teased. 

It wasn't long before the pillow was removed and  strong, scarred arms were looping around his middle to pull him back to press against his Inquisitor. 

"...Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," Ionas murmured ever so softly, "... _Amatus_ ," 

Dorian couldn't suppress his smile or the way his heart beat just a little quicker at the notion as he sighed and laced his fingers in his. This wasn't what he'd intended for the evening, laying spooned with the man who inspired big scary serious feelings in him, being slowly lulled to sleep by his steady breathing, but all the same, it was something nice.

Better still, it was something _more_. 


	2. Naked Kissing

Skyhold was subject to extreme weather year round, blistering summers, subzero winters, rain, sleet, snow that buried the grounds in knee deep blankets, hail the size of melons. It's vantage point tucked so high in the mountains saw that no light drizzle ever remained so for long, no smooth breeze or languid snowfall, only wind storms that threatened to tear doors off of hinges and frigid nights that froze them back into place.  
Everything in extremes.  
The Inquisition and it's tired old fortress had seen and stood through it all, but something about of the stifling heat of a midsummer's day seemed exceedingly more oppressive than any of the other mercurial forecasts.  
It was already unbearably hot by the time Ionas opened his eyes to the morning light stretching across the floor in spidering tendrils. He was slick with sweat, stripped bare and free from blankets or coverings of any kind, but still he lay overheating, stretched over the chaise he'd dragged out onto the balcony where he'd spent most of the night, hoping it might offer a cool respite from the angry heat of the day.  
He'd been rewarded for a time, but what little breeze the mountains offered didn't seem to penetrate the stifling summer stagnation hanging in the air and Ionas had barely slept for it, feeling very much like he was melting.  
He felt the same still and greeting the morning with a long suffering groan of dismay. He shaded his eyes and retreated from the sun, scrambling off of the piece of furniture to press himself flat against the cool stone floor of his chambers.  
Well, mostly cool.  
The air was already blistering and had started to seep into the tiles.  
It was unbearably hot and Ionas, who had been raised in Starkhaven's cool and misty climate, was exceedingly miserable.  
This heat was smothering him.  
Wasn't he the leader of something here? The man in charge? People flocked to grovel and complain to him from nearly every corner of Thedas, and he helped more of them with silly problems than he ought to, surely a few of them might consider fanning him if he asked nicely.  
Even if it wasn't nicely, he could always just order them to do it. He was the Herald of Andraste afterall, if they declined he could always just threaten them with a bolt of divine lightning.  
Ionas was sure he could probably convince Dorian to help him with a little prestidigitation if it came down to that. Not to mention it would be immensely amusing, but if course it was just a fantasy.  
Ionas heaved a sigh and made himself sit up, shuttering under the sensation of sweat racing down his back.  
It wasn't any use. He was going to be hot no matter where he was, and if he was going to burn, he might as well be comfortable, so he rose on stiff legs and trudged across the room to fall face first into bed.  
It wasn't even five minutes of tossing and turning before the sound of boots coming up the stairs reached him, loud and thundering though not as loud as that foppish northern drawl.  
"Good morning,"  
He groaned, settling on his back, and covered his head with a pillow, though came to immediately regret the decision,  
"Go away, Dorian, it's too early,"  
"Actually, it's eleven, and you should know your advisors have been waiting for you since-- ah, hmm... rough night?"  
He groaned again and threw the pillow off, in what he assumed was Dorian's direction and flung an arm over his eyes,  
"It's too hot to talk strategy, tell them we can meet later,"  
After a moment the bed sagged with an added weight as the Mage sat on the edge of the mattress.  
"What do I look like, a raven?" He scoffed, "Tell them yourself, I'm not anyone's messenger,"  
Ionas lowered his arm to quirk a brow at Dorian.  
"Oh? So you're saying Cullen didn't send you up here to fetch me, then?"  
"I'm not saying he didn't bat those pretty eyes at me and ask nicely... anyway, I was already coming this way," he shrugged, then trailed long fingers across Ionas's abdomen, "...do you always sleep naked, or were you anticipating my stopping by?"  
The Inquisitor ignored him,  
"I probably slept fewer than two hours last night, but when I did I dreamt about Emprise Du Lion,"  
"That's dreadful,"  
"It was magnificent,"  
Dorian snorted,  
"Now you're just being dramatic,"  
He didn't answer. Ionas had closed his eyes and was busy trying to get a glimpse of the frigid place he'd hated so much. He had sworn never to return, beyond the demons, red lyrium, dragons, Templars and crazed cultists vying for his head on a pike, he'd nearly caught hypothermia falling through a thin patch of ice in simultaneously trying to close a rift and avoid being stepped on by a demon of Pride. And here he was, day dreaming about the place. He'd been so busy trying to picture it he'd completely forgotten Dorian was even there, let alone talking to him.  
Ionas's breath left him in a whoosh beneath the man's weight as suddenly Dorian climbed over to lie on top of him.  
"Gettoff," he growled when the Mage settled, propped above him on an elbow, resting his head in his hand.  
Naturally, he ignored the command, never content to do as he was told.  
"Where are you right now?"  
"Emprise Du Lion,"  
"Well, come back," He traced the line of the Inquisitor's nose with his free hand, "Because I happen to know a little trick that will take your mind off of the temperature,"  
Ionas groaned and stretched languidly beneath him as Dorian's hands came up to press his wrists to the mattress. The fine white material of his robes sent conflicting sensations across his body, the pleasant tingling of such light and tender touching and the wretched warmth they added to his hot, sticky form.  
"Don't, it's too hot for that," he groaned,  
"Oh, hush, you're going to like it," Dorian said against him, brushing his lips ever so gently along his jaw and up to his mouth, kissing Ionas soft and slow.  
He didn't dispute the affection, it was always more than welcome and sent little spurs of pleasure darting through his midsection, but the man practically radiated heat and in that moment he certainly did not want him lying on top of him the way he was.  
He started to protest again, then Ionas tasted ice crystals on his tongue. He became aware of the little fissures quickly spidering from his hands down his arms, blossoming over his shoulders and across his chest. He couldn't help the moan that slipped out of him as he pushed up harder against Dorian's mouth, seeking more of that wonderful coolness that had begun to nip at his arousal.  
"I told you," Dorian laughed,  
"Shut up and kiss me,"  
"As you say, my Lord Inquisitor," the Mage purred, dipping back down to catch his mouth and open it to his own with the swipe of a frosty tongue over parched lips. 

By the time they were finished, Ionas was covered in goose flesh, completely content to be shivering and not caring a whit for the icicles that had begun to form on the headboard.


End file.
